


Drink up me hearties, yo ho!

by thesadchicken



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, M/M, Pirates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:24:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4869962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesadchicken/pseuds/thesadchicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Julian Bashir is a young doctor stuck on the coast of his African homeland, dreaming of grand adventures. When presented with an opportunity, he undertakes a seemingly short and harmless voyage that goes terribly wrong, and he gets more than he bargained for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Pirate AU that takes place in Earth's past; however, I can't guarantee historical accuracy. I'm playing with history here the way I play with the characters.
> 
> A huge thank you to my friend Susi (captainslock on tumblr) for beta-reading this for me.

_Let me sail, let me sail, let the orinoco flow,_

_Let me reach, let me beach on the shores of Tripoli,_

_Let me sail, let me sail, let me crash upon your shore_

~

Julian Bashir absent-mindedly pulled on a loose string in his sirwal and sighed. The sun was already low in the sky; in an hour or two, it would be possible to go outside again without suffering from the heat. From inside his flat-roofed cabin he could see the coming and going of merchants packing their goods for another day. The old man they had nicknamed Morn made his way across the streets on his donkey; most likely heading towards a tavern.

He huffed impatiently. _Frontier medicine indeed_. He had been on this wretched island for nearly a month, and nothing had piqued his interest – except, perhaps, the young European woman who passed by every morning on her way to the local souk. Her name was Jadzia – or so she had said – and Julian had tried hard not to believe her, but Jadzia was such a pretty name. He had also tried not to believe her when she had said that she heard voices in her head: ghosts from past lives. ‘Friendly ghosts,’ she had smiled, then winced, ‘most of them’. And the mostly friendly ghosts had odd names too (although admittedly none as pretty as _Jadzia_ ). She stopped by sometimes and leaned on the wall outside his cabin, sighing and complaining about the heat. He would invite her inside, but she would refuse. So he’d offer her acarafe of water, and she’d beam at him and take it eagerly. ‘I know I can always count on you, Julian.’ He’d shake his head and say it was all part of being a doctor, but there would be tenderness in her eyes that said ‘no, it’s more than that; you’re a good friend.’ She was special, adventurous and funny, and she too was a good friend.

_But she hasn’t been to the souk today_ , he pondered. He had been alone all day and was getting increasingly restless. Soon he found himself pacing his small bedroom, picking up books at random and almost immediately setting them down. _I’m bored out of my wits_ , he realized with a sinking feeling of despair. He couldn’t return home a failure: he dared not imagine what his father would say. And yet his life on this islet near Sardinia was just as monotonous and unexciting as the one he had left in Tunisia.

A sudden thump on his door interrupted his thoughts. He heard the rustle of someone struggling to enter. Heart pounding, he rushed to the window and stuck his head outside.

“Julian, open the door,” Jadzia urged him, and for a moment he stared at her blankly. She was dragging a short man behind her, and from the way he swayed dangerously from side to side, Julian made the hasty conclusion that he was drunk. When he finally did open the door, however, he noticed the man was holding his head between his hands, squinting and groaning in pain. Jadzia pushed him inside.

“I brought you a patient,” she announced, stepping inside and closing the door behind her; “and some good news.”

“I’ll take care of the patient first. Keep the good news for later,” he mumbled, guiding the injured man into the infirmary – it was a small portion of his cabin, but it was the largest space he had, and the only room in which he could fit a decent bed and medical instruments.

“What happened to him?” Julian asked, as he gently pushed his patient down onto the bed.

Jadzia shrugged. “He must’ve gotten into a fight at the tavern. It happens all the time.”

“Oh, my head!” the man complained, drawing the doctor’s attention back to him, and Julian had to peel his hands away from his bald head to look at it. There was a slight bump on the top that was most likely going to grow red and swollen in the next few days, but other than that, there wasn’t even a bruise.

“You’ll be fine,” Julian reassured his patient, pouring cold water on a piece of cloth and throwing it over the reddening area.

“Easy for you to say that,” the man snapped back at him, and Julian looked at Jadzia, questioning.

She smiled apologetically. “I told you it wasn’t that bad, Quark,” she addressed the man, who huffed at her rudely.

“I’m not so sure of that. Some doctor you brought me to,” he squirmed off the bed and headed towards the door.

“I beg your pardon,” Julian frowned, following after him angrily.

“Quark,” Jadzia grabbed the short man by the arm and turned him around; “this is the surgeon I told you about.”

Quark’s expression changed in an instant, as he seemed to reconsider his poor evaluation of Julian’s medical skills. “Well then, that changes everything, doesn’t it,” he smiled, turning towards Julian and extending a friendly hand, “I’m Quark, and you’re hired.”

Julian shook the hand and looked from Jadzia to Quark confusedly. “I’m Julian Bashir, actually… I’m sorry, hired for what?”

Jadzia laughed. “Quark has a small cargo ship, and they’re leaving for Europe tomorrow morning. They needed a surgeon –”

“Procedure,” Quark commented with a distasteful grimace.

“– and I know how much you want to get off this rock, so I put your name forward for consideration.”

“Congratulations, you’re part of my crew. We meet tomorrow at sunrise, at the seaport. No delays or we leave without you,” Quark concluded quickly, then resumed his walk towards the door.

Julian blinked, staring at the bald man as he left. “Didn’t take much persuasion to get me hired,” he observed.

Jadzia bit her lower lip uneasily. “Yes, um, I told him you’d be working for free.”

~

_From the North to the South, Ebudc into Khartoum,_

_From the deep sea of Clouds to the island of the moon,_

_Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never been,_

_Carry me on the waves to the lands I've never seen,_

_Sail away, sail away, sail away…_

~

She hugged him close. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I thought you dug this job out to get rid of me,” he teased; she pouted, and – as always – he yielded, “I’ll only be gone for a few weeks. I’ll be back before you notice.”

Jadzia pulled back and took a long look at him. He suddenly felt bare, transparent to her piercing gaze, as if she were looking past him – or rather, through him. Being scrutinized for so long was mildly uncomfortable, and Julian fidgeted under her intensity. In times like these, he thought she looked three hundred years old and he wondered – was the distance in her eyes a ghost fleetingly passing by?

But she smiled, breaking the moment, and he knew she was back with him. Gesturing towards the small merchant vessel, she nudged him playfully. “Godspeed, sailor.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Julian grinned, and started walking backwards to the ship, waving at her the whole time.

He watched her wave at him from the shore as they left, and he kept staring even after she became a tiny speck on the blurry line of land, and then until the land itself disappeared, and he was encircled by the sea, bound by nothing, drawn to the horizon.

~

“Hey you, over there! Surgeon!”

Julian turned around and squinted up at the main deck, where Quark was standing, watching the sailors – more specifically, watching _him_.

“Make yourself useful,” he barked, frowning in a most unpleasant way.

Julian shrugged. “No one’s in need of medical assistance.”

“So you thought you’d just sit back and enjoy the ride?” Quark smiled sweetly, then his lips turned downward and the unpleasant frown was back on his face, “scrub the deck, if you have nothing better to do.”

And so Julian found himself on his hands and knees, cleaning the deck with a wet piece of cloth, fuming and muttering to himself. He hated Quark’s condescending attitude almost as much as he hated the sun burning his back through his tunic. _And God knows it’s hot_. He looked up at the sky, blinking furiously. It looked back at him, mercilessly bright. He had been arrogant and conceited again, he knew it now. _Why did I ever let myself believe this would be an easy path to adventure?_ As far as he could see from his crouched position on the lower decks, this was neither easy nor adventurous. His limbs were already aching and he had only been scrubbing for an hour at best. The sun hadn’t even reached its zenith yet, but he was already bored and growing edgy. He sighed heavily and tried to count the days it would take them to reach the Italian coastline. When that didn’t work, he resorted to counting the number of times Quark’s brother Rom, a clumsy and incompetent lad, tripped on a bucket or a mop. He noticed other members of the crew laughing at him, some taunted him by throwing objects under his feet, and he finally took pity on the man. Pushing himself up, he walked over to where Rom was standing, eyes locked on the horizon, trying to keep a semblance of dignity. Julian placed a friendly hand on his shoulder. Rom twitched at the touch, but didn’t turn.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Julian offered, smiling kindly at the shorter man’s back; “I want to make myself useful. And to tell you the truth I think I’d be much more helpful if I –”

Rom suddenly drew back and tripped on Julian’s feet, falling onto the deck with a loud smack. He started writhing on the floor and babbling uncontrollably, sending the sailors into another fit of laughter. Julian tried to haul him up to his feet but the man was trembling. His incessant jabbering started making sense. “P-pirates… Pirate ship ahead!”

The crew snickered at Rom, clearly unconvinced. But only a second later, the topman yelled down at them from his perch on the foremast. As he spoke, Julian saw realization dawning on the crew’s faces. “Sail ho! It be pirates!”

Later, when Julian tried to remember the moments that followed the panic-stricken statement, all that came to his mind was mayhem. Complete and utter chaos, with men running across the decks, pulling on ropes and lines, gathering up the few weapons they had on board, earsplitting screams and orders being yelled out from every corner. He knew he was running around the ship, unsure of what to do, and he could almost feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins… yet he was oddly detached, as if he were watching the scene from afar, unable to comprehend the feeling that twisted his guts and made his feet wobble beneath him.

And he thought he wanted the cruelty of the moment to end, no matter what that meant; he wanted the fear and yelling and panic to stop, even if there would be a price to pay. But when the first shot was fired, he regretted his foolish thoughts.

His vision became a blur, but he could still see the men falling, blood splashing the decks, bodies crashing against each other in madness. He felt himself sway and fall against the bulkhead, clutching at the wood. When he closed his eyes to escape the horrors, his hearing seemed to become viciously sharp: he could hear his own ragged breathing through the cries of the crew, a howl of pain to his left followed by a horridly joyous laugh… He only opened his eyes when he heard Quark’s voice yelling; “Abandon ship!”

Men were throwing themselves overboard, some getting shot before they even hit the water. Julian heaved his body high enough so that he could peer down at the waves crashing against the hull. He felt faint and dizzy and seasick, but with a final effort he pushed his feet off the deck and plunged head first into the waters.


	2. Chapter 2

He was fairly certain it was the throbbing in his head that dragged him back to consciousness. He realized he was on a ship, on his knees, but he couldn’t remember how he got there. As he opened his eyes, the horrors flashed again in his mind, and the light was too bright, his mouth too dry; he nauseously doubled over and spilled the remainder of his previous meal onto the deck.

There was a hand on his shoulder, holding him still as he regained his breath. A pair of boots appeared in front of him, and a deep voice addressed him harshly.

“What was your position on the merchant vessel?”

Julian gasped for breath, holding his stomach. The hand on his shoulder shook him brutally, pressing him for an answer.

“I’m a doctor –a surgeon,” he managed, remembering Quark’s choice of words.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then he was yanked to his feet and pushed below the main deck into the living quarters. He collapsed almost immediately.

~

“Wake up.”

Julian had heard the voice, understood the words, but refused to comply.

“Wake. Up,” the voice repeated, and a harsh slap hit the side of his face.

He blinked furiously, frowning at the person crouching at his side. His vision slowly adjusted to the darkness of the living quarters – he recalled being taken to the berth and thrown onto the floor roughly, so he surmised he hadn’t been moved in his sleep. He was lying on his back on the dirty wood. He stared at the stranger who had woken him up: a man, at least ten years older than he was, with auburn hair and rough features. His once undoubtedly white skin was sunburnt and beaten by the wind, but there was an air of kindness about him that left a curious thought in Julian’s mind; _he looks like a good man_.

“Finally!” the stranger threw his hands up in the air, “the lads thought you were dead.”

“I thought so too,” Julian mumbled, trying to push himself into a sitting position.

He was handed a carafe and a bowl of thick brown soup. Discarding the soup for the moment, he eagerly brought the carafe to his lips, waiting for water to freshen his dry mouth. Rum burnt its way down his throat instead, and he gagged.

“We have nothing but rum here,” his makeshift nurse informed him; “fresh water goes stale. So drink up, and don’t forget your soup.”

_Rum… that means they’ve been to South America…_ The thought was impressing, and had he been in better mental and physical condition, Julian was certain he would’ve felt tingles of excitement, knowing he was aboard a ship that had traveled that far across the ocean. He had never even been to Europe, let alone the New World. He had heard tales of course, and read many books, but this was different.

His stomach rumbled, pulling him back to his current situation. Julian forced himself to swallow his meal, worried it might be his only one for a while. He tried to make conversation between slurps; mainly to get more information.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name?” he tried hesitantly. _He’s a pirate, a pirate!_ And Julian had no idea how to talk to a pirate. He wanted to trust the feeling that told him this man wasn’t to be feared, was rather friend than foe, but he couldn’t yet.

“Miles O’Brien,” the man replied, snorting threateningly.

_He wants to intimidate me_. Strange, for a man who had just offered him food and drink. Julian attempted a smile. “I’m Julian Bashir. I’m a doctor, and I –”

“So that’s why they kept you,” O’Brien interrupted him, and Julian guessed that by ‘kept’ he meant ‘did not kill’.

He took a deep breath. _I might as well get straight to the point, since conversation doesn’t seem to interest him_. “Where am I?”

“You don’t know?” O’Brien stared at him incredulously, but continued without waiting for an answer; “You’re on the ‘ _Defiant’_.”

There was a dramatic pause during which O’Brien looked ominously smug and proud. Julian cast him a questioning look. “Is that supposed to mean something?”

The older man’s expression faded into an annoyed frown. He stood up with a grunt. “Come on, get up and get to work.”

“Work?”

“We’ll be scrubbing the decks all mornin’ if you don’t get up now.”

~

He found himself on his hands and knees with a wet piece of cloth. Again.

Fate seemed to be cruelly ironic – not that Julian believed in fate, destiny and other superstitions of the sort. He just needed someone to blame. For a brief moment his thoughts wandered towards Jadzia, but he quickly turned them away from there: he couldn’t bring himself to blame her, and the possibility of never again seeing her made his heart sink. He didn’t want to ask himself any unanswerable questions, so instead he elbowed O’Brien, who was scrubbing next to him.

“Where are we going? What’s going to happen to me?”

O’Brien seemed to consider for a moment, then lifted his fist to his brow and wiped the sweat away. “Where we’re going is across the Atlantic. And you… well just remember this: as long as you’re useful, you’re alive. As long as you live, you serve on this ship.”

Julian nodded. _So I’m most likely never going to see home again_. The idea wouldn’t have disturbed him two days ago, but now it made him shiver with horror. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to swallow back the tears that threatened to run down his cheeks. It wouldn’t do to look weak in front of the crew. He had to show them he could be just as useful as any of them, had to find his place before someone thought he was disposable.

He started scrubbing more vigorously. The physical strain somewhat eased his anger, fear, and frustration. From time to time, he could feel O’Brien’s eyes on him, but he didn’t say a word.

By midday they had finished the main deck and the lower decks, but Julian stubbornly continued to brush the wood, feeling he could keep on rubbing until it was properly polished. The men were starting to disperse, each busying himself with another assignment and soon Julian was one of the only sailors still bent down cleaning the ship. The floor was the safest place for the moment: it was the only place where he knew what to do. Revealing his ignorance of life aboard a ship would certainly not gain him any favors, and so he did his best to blend in and avoid drawing attention. Yet he had a nagging feeling that someone was watching him. It couldn’t be O’Brien – he had left minutes ago to inspect the sails and rigging.

Julian looked up and around him. The forecastle deck was empty except for a young lad who looked barely seventeen and who was lightheartedly singing to himself. Julian shook his head and was about to get back to work when out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silhouette leaning on the foremast. He turned around and met a pair of piercing blue eyes, staring intently into his. The bearer of the eyes was a man of average height – perhaps a few inches shorter than Julian – but with a bulky frame, unquestionably muscular although rather on the rounded side. And yet it wasn’t his intimidating structure that sent shivers down Julian’s spine and made him fall back on his rear: it was his face, ridged around the eyes and on the chin and even up to the ears. A spoon-like crest ornamented his forehead; his skin was scaled and sickly pale, as if he had been touched by death but still stood on his two feet and roamed the seas. He looked every bit like a creature from one of the old sea legends Julian was so fond of – _My God, he can’t be_ …

And then the man bowed at him; a small, almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough to set anyone’s heart racing with fear. Julian leaped onto his feet and ran off the forecastle deck, heading towards the main deck, where O’Brien was inspecting the sails.

“O’Brien,” he pulled on the man’s sleeves breathlessly, “I saw a man, over there – couldn’t be real, I must be seeing things – wasn’t human…”

O’Brien looked over his shoulder to where Julian had been pointing and smiled dryly. “Huh. Mister Garak, I suppose. He isn’t human; a Cardie is what he is.”

“A Cardassian?” Julian blurted out, hands shaking despite his efforts to look composed, “you’re joking, aren’t you? There’s no such thing as a Cardassian, it’s just an old sea tale!”

O’Brien shrugged, continuing his work. “If believing that helps you sleep, then who am I to disturb your peace of mind?”

~

Julian stuck to O’Brien’s side for the next few days, which seemed to greatly annoy the older man. Kindly enough though, he didn’t try to get rid of Julian; he just seemed to endure the young man’s presence. Julian watched O’Brien closely, picking up his gestures and habits, hoping they were indications on how to behave on a pirate ship. His priority, for now, was clear: survival. Escape was second on the list, and he was determined not to live out the rest of his life in the middle of ruthless scoundrels who pillaged the sea with no remorse. Another thought insistently tried to surface throughout the days, but he kept it tucked away in the back of his mind. He had only seen and heard of the mysterious man O’Brien called a Cardassian once. He couldn’t allow himself to go mad, making up fantastic stories about a man that was most probably nothing more than a hallucination. He stuck to reality, trying his best to prove himself useful for as long as it took, and waiting for the occasion to get off this demon ship.

Among the things he learned while watching O’Brien was that a pirate ship, contrary to popular belief, was held together by a strict set of rules. Going against said rules gained a sailor nothing but a bullet to the head. And so there was to be no gambling, no quarreling among the crew, no stealing of any personal items. Soon enough, Julian began feeling quite safe aboard the ship, and once he memorized its structure, he could wander around it by day or night without the slightest hint of fear or anxiety. He had his own tattered hammock in the berth, right next to O’Brien’s. After a sleepless night or two, he found himself too exhausted to pay attention to the creaking of the wood or the snoring of the crew, and he slept soundly.

Another thing he learned about was the men’s undying thirst for treasure. It was all they could talk about, during the meals, before going to sleep, and sometimes even while on duty. How to acquire it, where to find it, how they would spend it; the conversations varied, but the subject was always the same. The crew’s preferred fantasy was finding an ancient map that would lead them directly to some king’s long lost treasure; pillage and murder very seldom appealed to them. Julian noted that some men had plans of becoming rich and settling down with a wife on an island someday. They weren’t exactly the heartless predators he thought they would be; but they still regarded plundering as an enjoyable hobby, and the idea of killing didn’t bother them as much as it should have. _They aren’t savages who take pleasure in wreaking havoc; they simply don’t care for anything but gold… and themselves_ , Julian had concluded one day, after hearing an older sailor dispassionately recount the tale of how he had stolen jewelry off a Governor’s dead body.

And so Julian was slowly learning to live amongst the crew. He got to know their ways. He grew accustomed to their lifestyle and – against his better judgment – he had ended up adopting it. He woke up every day a few minutes before sunrise and immediately got to work. An hour or two later, he and Miles O’Brien usually shared whatever the cook had to offer. Food seemed to always be a problem, and soon Julian forgot to worry about his stomach as much as he did before. He also familiarized himself with the murky taste of rum; it was the only way to stay hydrated. The afternoon shifts were frequently less demanding than the early morning ones, but the hours could easily grow tedious. That’s how Julian discovered sea chanteys and their spirit-lifting effects. O’Brien knew quite a few, and taught Julian some of his favorites. The older man had a strong voice that carried well through the rows of hard-working sailors; it was usually him who started a song. Julian enjoyed singing with him. He found their voices blended well – especially when they were inebriated.

He also noticed that most of the lads had very few personal objects, and they usually kept them in chests or in small boxes under their hammocks. Julian had nothing but the clothes on his back. He repeatedly wondered what he would do when his clothes would turn into rags and eventually become unwearable. _What do pirates do when they need new items? They steal_ … That brought up the possibility of a raid on another unsuspecting merchant ship, and Julian had no desire to participate in any action of the sort. So he pushed the question away from his mind, as he often did with frustratingly unsolvable problems.

~

A week and a few days had passed since his capture – Julian was starting to lose count. It was startling that he could live this way, without any clear indication of time and date. He managed to surprise himself more and more often these days, he told Miles as they were sharing their morning soup, and his friend crossed his arms over his chest and scowled.

“Oh really? Well let’s see if you have the guts to go down to the galley and get us another meal.”

“Can’t be that hard,” Julian shrugged.

“You’ve never dealt with the cook, mate,” O’Brien snickered, “he’s new too, though. He was on that merchant vessel of yours.”

Now that definitely piqued Julian’s curiosity. He hadn’t known there were others like him here, and although he hadn’t been on the cargo ship for long, he thought he might gain a friend if he talked to this cook. _All the more reason to accept the challenge!_

“I’ll be right back with another bowl of soup,” Julian announced, standing up and rushing towards the stairs that led to the galley.

Although he had never been there himself, it took him only a few minutes to reach the dark room. He knew the ship as well as any other man on board, except for a few limited places where he had never set foot. To his surprise, he found himself face to face with none other than Quark.

“You,” the short man exclaimed, “the surgeon!”

“Quark! You’re the cook?” Julian asked, more relieved to see the irritating fellow than he cared to admit.

“As long as it keeps me alive; yes, I’m the cook,” Quark whispered, “and you’re the doctor, I presume?”

“I am,” Julian answered, “but I haven’t had many patients yet.”

“Just wait until we go into battle. You’ll have more patients than hairs on your head,” Quark said, dipping a dirty bowl into a bucket of sea water to clean it.

Julian winced at the implication. “Yes, well… I was wondering if you could give me a second ration.”

“More soup? I don’t think so. O’Brien came down here only minutes ago for yours and his meal,” Quark shook his head.

“It’s for Tomlin, the young chap who stands watch every night. He’s sick and needs nourishment,” Julian lied.

Quark mockingly clutched his heart. “What a touching story, I might even weep… but I still won’t give you more soup.”

Julian sighed heavily and followed the cook as he promptly mopped a dirty spot from the wood. Suddenly he had an idea. “What if I promised you something in exchange?”

Quark looked up, frowning suspiciously. “What do you have to offer?”

Julian bit the inside of his lower lip. _Good question… play it cool, and he’ll fall for it_. “Depends on what you want.”

“I’m only interested in gold. No maps, no so-called mermaid scales, no voodoo magic, nothing. I want pure, valuable, shiny gold,” the cook said.

“That’s a bit much for a bowl of soup!” Julian protested.

“Take it or leave it. Now if you don’t have what I want, stop wasting my time.”

_I can’t go back to Miles empty handed, I’ll never live it down_. “Alright, alright. How about my share of gold out of next raid’s booty?”

“Who tells you there will be a ‘next raid’?” Quark scowled.

“Who tells you there won’t?” Julian wriggled his eyebrows.

Quark squinted, rubbed his right ear two times, seemed to reconsider for a moment, then smiled. “Deal.”

~

Skipping his way up to Miles with a bowl of brown soup in his hands, Julian was overly pleased with himself, like a youth who had just gotten away with an elaborate lie. Whether he planned on paying Quark back or not, he had no idea; for the moment all that mattered was that he had proved himself clever enough to make Miles shut up.

Miles, however, wasn’t down in the berth where he had left him. _The old sod didn’t even wait for me! Well, too bad for him._ Julian mentally patted himself on the back for his wittiness. He’d just have to eat all the soup himself and hand the empty bowl to Miles as proof. _That’ll serve him right_.

He walked deeper into the dark living quarters, searching for his hammock, when an icy hand landed on his shoulder. He almost shrieked with fright.

“It’s doctor Bashir, isn’t it?” a calm voice rose from behind him, then without waiting for an answer it continued, “of course it is.”

Julian froze in place, watching as a man slowly circled him, taking long, swooping looks at him. He quickly realized it was the Cardassian – if only for the sheer paleness of his skin – and wished there were more light, so he could actually see the alien face. The Cardassian, however, didn’t seem to mind the darkness; he was staring at Julian with wide, glistening eyes.

“May I introduce myself?” he added, coming to a halt dangerously close to Julian’s shaking body. The doctor clutched his bowl of soup until his knuckles went white, trying his best not to tremble.

An expectant silence followed the question, and so Julian assumed an answer was required. “Um, yes, yes of course,” he stammered nervously.

“My name is Garak,” the man smiled, but in the dark all Julian saw was a flash of white teeth, “a Cardassian by birth, obviously. The only one of us left on these waters as a matter of fact.”

Suddenly, Garak changed position, turning swiftly on the creaking wood – he walked almost soundlessly, and Julian had no idea where he was until he spoke, again directly behind him.  “And I do appreciate making new friends whenever I can. You are new to this ship, I believe?”

Julian swallowed and bit his lip. “I – I am, yes.”

“Hmm,” the Cardassian hummed in Julian’s ear, “you may want to know then, that I have a personal cabin on the quarterdeck, so if you should require anything at all –”

Julian felt Garak’s body press against his, and for the first time he thanked goodness it was dark, because he was blushing from head to toe.

“– or simply wish, as I do, for a bit of… enjoyable company, now and then, I’m at your disposal, doctor.”

Julian steadied himself by taking deep breaths. Garak could doubtlessly feel him shaking; their bodies were fully touching now, the Cardassian’s chin almost resting on Julian’s shoulder.

“You’re –You’re very kind, Mister Garak,” he managed.

“Oh,” the other man whispered into his ear, “it’s just Garak. Plain, simple Garak.”

And he was gone; the weight of his muscular body against Julian’s back replaced by a cold gush of salty air. Julian waited a few seconds before he dared to move. He looked down at his soup; he wasn’t very hungry, all of a sudden.


	3. Chapter 3

“He spoke to you?” Miles raised his eyebrows, holding an empty barrel above the water.

“Yes. Is that bad?” Julian said, chewing on his lower lip anxiously.

“Dunno. It’s just that he never speaks to anyone. Keeps mostly to himself,” the older man pushed the barrel into the water, “What did he say, anyway?”

Julian wasn’t sure he was ready to reveal their small exchange. He thought he had an idea of what Garak had meant, but then again the whole thing seemed so odd… like the hazy remains of a dream.

“He introduced himself,” he said, frowning, “and he knew my name before I even spoke to him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He knows everything about everyone,” Miles replied, throwing another empty barrel overboard.

Julian didn’t know how he felt about that last statement, but he decided to let it go. He was too shaken to overthink it now, so he focused entirely on his work until the night shift began, and his ended. Lying on his hammock, listening to the wood creak, he was confronted with unanswered questions – it was what he feared the most. And yet he recognized the fascination he held for those same dreaded questions. He couldn’t help but think of possible answers. What was he to do now? Accept Garak’s invitation? His stomach twisted at the thought. There were so many reasons he shouldn’t. _But if he had wanted to hurt me, he would’ve done it there, in the dark and empty berth, when I was expecting him the least_. No, there was more to this Garak fellow than met the eye. _And besides, he’s a_ Cardassian _!_ Julian still shivered thinking about it. A real Cardassian! Like the ones in the stories old Morn used to tell! Were any of those tales true? Did a Cardassian really have the strength of ten grown men and the appetite of twenty?

More importantly; what did this particular Cardassian want from him? Julian guessed it was something none too innocent, but he would rather guess again. _What if it’s something important? What if he wants to help me? Would I miss an opportunity to escape?_  And regardless of the reasons behind this impromptu invitation, what would be the consequences if he refused? Was he even given a choice? He had so many questions – questions, questions, always questions and no answers!

He rolled over – an old impulse he kept from the days when he slept on a proper bed – and spun around in his hammock. Losing his balance, he fell on the hard wood with a loud thud.

“Would you stop that?” O’Brien’s voice complained.

“Sorry,” Julian whispered, climbing back into his hammock.

By the time Miles started snoring, Julian had made up his mind. He would meet Garak tomorrow at the end of his shift. He knew his curiosity would only be satiated if he yielded to it. But he’d be cautious of course. One was never too cautious aboard a pirate ship…

~

The next morning, Julian was kneeling down, helping Miles secure the rope, when he decided it was about time to have another question answered. He took a deep breath and looked at his friend, who was sweating under the ruthless West African sun.

“Miles,” he started, clearing his throat, “what happened to the merchant ship?”

O’Brien paused and pushed a deep sigh. “You mean the one we found you on?”

“Yes,” Julian said, “did you… has it sunk?”

“Sunk?” the other man exclaimed, a sarcastic smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “That would be against the Code! What kind of ship do you think this is?”

“So what happened to it?” Julian insisted, getting weary of O’Brien mocking expression.

There was a brief silence as Miles pulled on the rope tentatively. “The crew put up a fight, you know. Many were killed. Some – like you – panicked and jumped overboard; we saved most of those, made them part of our crew. And then there are men who didn’t fight and didn’t run, or just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“They were spared,” Julian understood, “and the ship continued its voyage with a skeleton crew and no cargo.”

He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but the disgust he felt must’ve shown on his face, because Miles shrugged apologetically. “It’s nothing personal. That’s just the way things work.”

“That doesn’t make it any less cruel,” Julian muttered, tightening his grasp on the rope.

“You know nothing of cruelty,” Miles frowned, “On those same merchant vessels, sailors who so much as slip up are beaten to death. And you should’ve seen the scars on some of the British Navy’s men. Even proper officers are given brutal whippings if things go wrong. That would never happen on the ‘ _Defiant_ ’. Coldblooded, merciless creatures, those Navy officers.”

Miles finished securing the rope and wiped his hands on his breeches. Julian did the same, wincing at the way his palms throbbed.

“You can call our captain anything,” the older man continued, “But you can’t call him cruel.”

Julian had never actually seen the captain of the ‘ _Defiant_ ’, but he’d heard a great deal about him. Miles respected him immensely, and told many tales of how the brave and fierce Captain Benjamin Sisko had become the terror of the high seas. How becoming such a renowned terrorist did not involve cruelty, Julian had no idea, but he trusted Miles’ judgment. So when his friend sat down to take a deep breath and a few sips of rum, Julian sat down beside him and looked at him eagerly. _Come on Miles, tell me another story_ …

“You want to hear another story, don’t you?” O’Brien echoed his thoughts, and Julian nodded, “Alright then. There was only one instance in which you could’ve qualified the captain as “cruel” – and still, that would’ve been far from the truth.”

Julian reclined onto the bulkhead. Miles took another gulp of rum before continuing. “We’d sighted a lone merchant vessel, one of those big freighters, you know? Clearly a trading company. We boarded them; they didn’t put up much of a fight. Their captain came over to parlay with ours. Things were going fine. They said they were carrying merchandise from Africa: ivory, gold, that sort of thing… and as I recall, there was a mention of ‘cargo’ – nothing specific, just ‘cargo’. Surely enough, the storage compartments were full of goods, and we took everything. But when we reached the lower decks…”

Julian looked over to Miles. The older man had stopped his narrative and was watching the horizon, squinting in the sunlight. He sighed. “It was a terrible sight, Julian. More dreadful than anything you can imagine… There were people down there. People, men like you and me, referred to as ‘cargo’... you understand? When the captain saw it, Mary mother of God – he completely lost his mind. He shouted at us to kill everyone. The whole crew, he said. No prisoners, no survivors; slaughter them all. Properly butchered that crew, he did.”

Julian stared at his feet gravely. This wasn’t the kind of story he had been expecting.

“He left the ship to the… to the people who had been… prisoners,” Miles clenched his jaw, “But it wasn’t much consolation. We had seen what that trading company was doing. We _knew_ there were probably others out there doing the exact same thing, and none of us could stop it. We had a lot of grim days after that. Not even the booty elevated the crew’s mood.”

Julian didn’t know what to say. He waited as Miles put the jug of rum to his lips again and exhaled deeply. “A free man doesn’t pity the enslaved, because he doesn’t know what enslavement is. But he hates the enslaver with a passion that can rip apart mountains, because he knows the price of freedom.”

There was a moment of solemn silence, and then Julian spoke. “Are any of us truly free though, Miles?”

O’Brien simply turned and stared at him vacantly. “I don’t know what you mean, Julian.” He got up with a grunt and gestured towards the younger man. “Now get back to work.”

~

The sun had barely set when Julian climbed onto the quarterdeck. He had left O’Brien snoring on his hammock; it was better that way. He didn’t want to explain himself.

Earlier that day, he had found Quark’s brother Rom – another survivor from the cargo ship – and borrowed a dagger from him. Rom was the only man on board who didn’t ask any questions, but answered many: when Julian had curiously asked where Rom had gotten the weapon, the short man had proudly declared that he had traded it against his ration of soup for two days. Julian had made a mental note to remember to share his following meals with the poor lad.

Now, dagger securely hidden beneath the folds of his sirwal, Julian moved carefully across the quarterdeck. He knew where the captain’s cabin was, but there were two more doors next to it and he couldn’t guess which one was Garak’s. He considered risking a knock.

 _But I don’t want to draw attention_ , he reminded himself. So he studied the first door closely, even daring to slide his fingers across its decorative – if somewhat uneven – patterns. He then turned to the second door and carefully pressed his ear against it: he heard nothing but a faint creaking sound. He was about to finally knock when a ray of candlelight flickered from underneath the first door. _That could be some sort of signal_. Taking his chances, Julian pushed the door open without warning – and found himself face to face with the room’s occupant.

The cabin was lit by a half-consumed candle placed on a square table (the only furniture in the room), but Julian immediately recognized the silhouette standing in front of him. He mouthed an apology, then had to try again; this time clearing his throat beforehand. “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mister Garak, I –”

The Cardassian raised his eye ridges and held up a reprimanding finger. It took Julian only a moment to understand. “Um, I mean Garak. Plain, simple Garak.”

This seemed to highly amuse the other man. He smiled widely and invited Julian in with a gallant gesture. Once they were both inside, he silently closed the door.

“Don’t apologize, doctor; I did invite you after all, didn’t I?” he said, walking to the center of the room and pulling a wooden stool from under the table. “And I am delighted that you’ve decided to accept my invitation. Please, sit down.”

For the life of him, Julian couldn’t come up with a rational explanation as to why he possibly thought this was a good idea. He willed himself not to shake as he quietly made his way across the room, sat down on the stool and looked up at Garak, who was now leaning against the table, watching Julian intently. The candlelight flickered unsteadily, but it was still enough to light the Cardassian’s features – for the first time, Julian could see him clearly. He tried not to stare, but the alien face was so unusual, so surreal… every bit like the faces described in Morn’s stories. Julian’s gaze was inevitably drawn to it. Garak, however, didn’t seem to take offense; he was doing some very intense staring of his own. _How long will we sit here just staring at each other?_

Moments later, the Cardassian stirred. “I’m sorry; I’m being a terrible host. Would you like some rum? I’m afraid there isn’t much more I can offer.”

Julian nodded, befuddled. Garak’s courteous behavior contrasted with their surroundings quite unsettlingly.  A well-mannered, refined buccaneer! It seemed too improbable to be true. Julian’s eyes wandered around the room for the first time since he entered; the cabin wasn’t as small as he imagined it would be. Or was it made to look larger by the lack of furniture? There was nothing adorning the walls, nothing on the table save for the candle and a bottle of rum; nothing on the floor except for a wooden chest. The room was blank, betraying nothing of its occupant’s interests or personality. It was a strange place to be in, let alone to live in. Julian repressed a shudder as he looked over to Garak: the grace with which his host moved across the room seemed too natural to be feigned.

A pale hand offered Julian an old, yellowed glass into which rum was generously poured. Garak smiled at him. “I hope your stay aboard our humble ship hasn’t been too unpleasant so far.”

 _He’s a pirate… and yet he talks and behaves like a gentleman_. Garak was even relatively clean and well-dressed, compared to the other men. He was wearing impeccable black breeches, a slightly stained white shirt, and a long dark coat that made him look even more intimidating than he already was. His hair was as black as coal and impossibly shiny, with only a few stray hairs hanging on his ridged forehead. A single golden earring was dangling from his ear just a few inches above his shoulder. Julian suddenly felt self-conscious: he was sweating, his hair was disheveled, stubble was nipping at his jaw and chin, and he had been wearing the same clothes for days.

 _I am not going to let him intimidate me this way_. He gripped the glass to prevent himself from shaking. “I was captured and forced to join this crew,” he said levelly, shooting his host an unwavering look, “I should think it’s reasonable to say that I’m unhappy about the situation.”

Garak’s polite smile faded into a discomfited frown; his lips drew an oval shape and his eyes widened, sparkling blue pools in the candlelight. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

Julian took a sip of rum. _This is the opportunity to show him that I will not be so easily intimidated. He may act like a gentleman, but he’s still a pirate_. “That was rather tactless of you, wasn’t it?” he said mockingly, hoping Garak would catch the sarcasm in his voice.

The Cardassian seemed surprised for a moment; as if Julian’s comment was the last thing he was expecting to hear. Then he closed his eyes, shook his head and smirked. “Do forgive me, doctor, if I am not entirely what you expected me to be.”

“I expected nothing,” Julian shrugged, tapping a finger on his glass.

“Ah, an open mind; the essence of intellect,” Garak’s smile broadened, and Julian wondered if those glistening white teeth were really as sharp as the stories recounted.

Already feeling a bit more comfortable, Julian allowed himself to take another sip of his drink. “There’s something I would like to know,” he announced flatly, trying to look unimpressed.

“Do tell,” Garak bowed and smiled politely.

“It’s just –” he leaned in and stared steadily at the Cardassian, hoping he looked as serious as he felt, “why did you invite me to your cabin?”

 _Why me, of all people? Why are you being so accommodating? What do you want from me?_ The questions twirled around in his head but never quite reached his mouth. He watched Garak carefully push himself off the table and walk over to the chest in the far end of the room. Julian felt his stomach lurch. The Cardassian bent down and opened the chest, silently fumbling through its contents. Julian could see nothing in the shadows, but his heart raced with fear at the thought of all the unpredictable – and possibly unwanted – answers to his question.

“I told you,” Garak said, pulling an item out of the chest and standing up, “I’m simply in search of a bit of enjoyable company.”

Julian peered at the item that his host was clasping in his hands, waiting apprehensively as Garak made his way back to him and set it down on the table. _Wait – a book?_

“Will you read to me, doctor?”

Julian almost laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious?”

Garak’s expression was all amusement. “I’m not illiterate, but although I speak many languages, I can only read in my own. And while Cardassian literature abounds with varied works, my personal library is somewhat… limited,” he shot the small chest a sad look.

Julian gaped at the torn book placed on the table. He recognized the title; ‘Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme’ by Molière, a French play. He wasn’t sure how much French he remembered from his school days, but he was fairly certain he had at least read the book before.

“You want me to… read to you?” he repeated.

“If it isn’t too much to ask,” Garak reached out and pushed the book towards Julian with two fingers.

“But – I don’t understand…”

“The only books I manage to acquire these days are non-Cardassian, and I have no way of reading them,” Garak explained with a pleasant smile.

Julian nodded slowly. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the book and opened it. “Why me?” he asked, frowning.

“You’re a doctor; surely you know how to read. But if literature doesn’t interest you…”

“Oh no, it’s not that, it’s just…” Julian’s voice trailed off as his eyes met Garak’s. He knew he was about to ask something important, but whatever it was vanished the moment Garak leaned in closer and placed a cool hand on Julian’s shoulder.

“Please, doctor, humor me.”

For an instant, Julian thought the Cardassian would close the small distance between them and land in his lap, but he merely hung there, with one arm propped up onto the table and the other on Julian’s shoulder. Eyelids drooping, Garak licked his lips once, opened his mouth and was about to say something else –

“Right,” Julian interrupted, hastily looking down at the book and turning the first page, “should we start right away?”

~

Julian was mopping the deck vigorously, swaying with the movements of the ship. “Miles, I’m not saying I know anything about sailing, but –” he started.

“What now?” Miles scowled.

Julian had been making persistent suggestions all morning, and his friend was getting less and less patient with them.

“Well – usually ships don’t travel north to reach European destinations; the wind would be against them. And yet here we are, sailing north from West Africa. It’s damned unusual and not at all practical.”

At this, Miles smiled and raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think we’re going to Europe?”

“So it’s true!” Julian exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically, “We’re going to America!”

“I never said that,” Miles denied, but he was still grinning.

“You think I don’t recognize a Caribbean ship when I see one? We’re going to South America!” Julian pushed further, trying O’Brien’s patience.

“Now listen here,” the older man said, “don’t go about making any grand assumptions. I said nothing. This is a pirate ship and that’s all you need to know.”

“A pirate ship that makes berth in the Caribbean,” Julian replied stubbornly.

“You really think you know everything, don’t you? No, we are not going that far south. We’re going straight to the Bajoran Sector,” Miles finally gave in to his young friend’s unrelenting taunting.

Julian fell silent, but inwardly he smiled and patted himself on the back. He had been planning this since he woke up that morning. He knew that if he annoyed Miles enough, he’d get the information out of him. Miles was nothing if not susceptible to teasing; he also hated it when Julian had the last word. But the Bajoran Sector… _another sea legend!_

“I don’t think that’s a real place,” Julian said out loud, this time genuinely dubious.

“Think again,” came the irritated reply.

“Why are we going there?” Julian stopped mopping and turned towards Miles, puzzled.

“The captain plans on retaking the Bajoran Island. These days they call it ‘Terok Nor’.”

Julian frowned. “I’m not sure I know this story… ‘Terok Nor’?”

Miles grabbed his mop and bucket and started walking away. “I can’t tell you about it now, Julian. It’s a long story. Maybe some other time, eh?”


	4. Chapter 4

Julian put the book down and yawned. He had been reading for about an hour and was getting tired – not to mention terribly sleepy. He hadn’t had much rest these days, but as soon as Miles had fallen asleep that night, he had crawled out of his hammock to join Garak in his cabin once more. During their first encounter in the same tiny cabin, Garak had implied many times that he wished for Julian to join him again the next day, and read to him once more. Why he had accepted the second invitation, Julian didn’t know. But now he was there, and instead of the excitement he had been expecting, he found that he was almost falling asleep to the sound of his own tired voice.

He looked over to Garak, who was sitting across him at the small table in his cabin, eyes closed.

“Garak?” he asked carefully, “are you sleeping?”

The Cardassian opened his eyes and blinked in the candlelight. “I was trying to envision that last scene,” he offered as a polite explanation.

Julian sighed. “Molière is quite dull though.”

“Perhaps, yes,” Garak smiled.

“Don’t you have anything else? Greek odysseys? Arab poetry?”

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with any of those. But I do have this rather voluminous manuscript,” the Cardassian answered, reaching for the chest that he had placed at his feet for easy access.

He took out a large book and placed it on the table. It was an old battered thing, but the calligraphy on the front was unmistakable.

“That’s the Quran,” Julian exclaimed.

Garak stared back at him and shook his head slowly.

“The holy book of Islam,” Julian added, “surely you’ve heard of it!”

His companion raised his eye-ridges and shrugged.

“It’s a sacred book,” Julian explained simply. He wasn’t very religious himself, and he didn’t care to pursue the matter. However, his curiosity pushed him to probe further. “Where did you get it?”

“A raid on a small ship near Egypt,” Garak replied dismissively, studying the book closely and cocking his head to one side, “It’s sacred, you said? Interesting.”

Julian waited silently. It was somewhat gratifying to know that he had finally managed to surprise Garak in some way. _And now he’s going to want to know more; he’ll ask the questions, and I’ll have all the answers, for a change_. He felt rather proud of himself too; he was no longer as awkward and uncomfortable as he had been only yesterday in this same cabin.

Garak traced the Arabic letters on the leather cover, delicately sliding his fingers against it. Then he looked up and shot Julian an elusive glance. “Shall we read it, then?”

 _That’s it?_ _No more questions? Doesn’t he want to know why it’s sacred? Isn’t he at least puzzled by the calligraphy?_ Julian pulled the book towards him and opened it at the first page. “Of course,” he answered, trying not to let his disappointment transpire.

He read the first few verses slowly, occasionally glancing at Garak, seeking a reaction. The Cardassian was alert, listening intently, and his gaze never wavered from Julian’s face. It was unsettling and quite terrifying, the way those icy blue eyes seemed to stare right through him, but there was no escaping them. They went through five or six pages before Julian grew impatient.

“Have you understood one word of what I’ve been reading?” he asked defiantly, closing the book.

“I might’ve missed the last sentence, but you were mumbling in such an unpleasant way –”

“You know what I mean,” Julian retorted, irritated, “I’ve been reading stories about angels and demons and birds carrying rocks in their beaks. Don’t you want to know the meaning behind all these fantastic stories? Aren’t you going to ask me why this fairytale book is sacred?”

Garak was trying to suppress a smile. “I had hoped that you wouldn’t reveal that just yet; that you would keep me waiting, night after night… for one thousand and one nights.”

Julian started at the mention of the Middle Eastern literary classic. _Could it be a coincidence that he uttered those exact words? Or does he mean to tell me that he sees himself as Shahryar and me as his Scheherazade?_ Julian thought he saw a gleam of mischief in Garak’s eyes.

“You lied to me,” he gasped, “you’ve read the Arabian Nights, haven’t you? You know exactly what the Quran is, and you can read Arabic. For all I know you probably read French and Latin too.”

Garak’s smile only widened. “I’m afraid it’s getting late, doctor. We all have duties to perform in the morning. Will you read to me tomorrow?”

 _Of all the nerve!_ The man had just been caught lying, and here he was unscrupulously asking Julian to ignore it. _That insufferable grin!_

“Will you, doctor?” the Cardassian insisted, eyes flickering over Julian like the shadows over the room.

 _He’s so… unnerving_ , Julian found himself thinking, and before he could think of anything else, he put the book back on the table and smiled. “Yes, Garak. I will.”

 _I will be your Scheherazade… and I will know all your secrets_.

~

The Quartermaster’s name was Odo, or at least that’s what the crew called him. It was never preceded by a fancy title: no ‘mister’ or ‘sir’, they all addressed him as Odo – from the cabin boy to the captain himself.

And as if that wasn’t odd enough, the man constantly wore a British Navy uniform. It was old, ragged, dirty and torn in many places, but he sported it proudly. Odo also wore a blue and white tricorn hat over his auburn hair, and only took it off to wipe it with the back of his hand, take a long appreciative look at it, and then put it back on. He never smiled, never laughed, never joined in the chanteys. He worked hard, overseeing the ship’s activities with an iron gaze, and disappeared into his cabin – which happened to be the one next to Garak’s – as soon as his shift was over. He was a curious character all in all, but he was respected by the crew, and that made Julian trust him implicitly. It was maybe a bit naïve on his part, but he felt safe, if somewhat awkward, when Odo was around.

However, he never had the opportunity to have a proper conversation with the Quartermaster until he was called upon one late afternoon to heal a crewmember.

He was inspecting the sails when a light tap on his shoulder made him swirl around. Odo’s expressionless face met him. “Mister Bashir, you’re the doctor.”

It was a cold statement and certainly not a question, but Julian felt the impulse to reply anyway. “Yes, I am.”

“The captain needs you in his cabin immediately.”

Julian nodded, uncertain of how to answer that. _‘Yes sir’? Am I now really part of the crew? Do I even want to be part of the crew?_ It seemed he had no choice for the moment, so he followed Odo to the captain’s private cabin and, for the first time, he saw Benjamin Sisko, terror of the high seas, standing solemnly at the door.

He was intimidating at first sight, dark eyes sharp and merciless, but the moment Julian and Odo entered the cabin and closed the door behind them, the captain’s imposing stature seemed to deflate slightly.

“It’s my son – Jake,” he said, without preambles or introductions, “he’s been ill for days.”

 _And you have no idea what to do, and you’re desperate for him to get better_ , Julian thought. So this was Captain Ben Sisko? The man who pillaged and plundered so ruthlessly? To Julian, he looked a lot more like a worried father.

“Where is he?” he asked, not half as impressed or intimidated as he thought he would be in the captain’s presence.

“At the back, in my quarters,” Sisko answered, then he turned to the Quartermaster, “thank you, Odo. I’ll send for you if you’re needed.”

Odo nodded – a brisk, graceless gesture – and left. Julian hurried to the back of the room, where another smaller door lead into the captain’s sleeping quarters. A boy was sprawled there on a bed, looking pale and unhealthily thin.

Julian crouched at his side and pressed too fingers to his throat. He turned around and smiled reassuringly at the captain. “He’ll be fine, Captain.”

Sisko nodded slowly, although the worried frown never left his face.

~

It was early morning when Julian stumbled out of the captain’s cabin and onto the quarterdeck. Sailors were flowing out of the berth, preparing for another day of hard work. The horizon was a beautiful red line, the rising sun was casting soft shadows over the ship, and Julian sighed with relief; the salty sea air felt good after a night spent tending a young patient, sweating under the father’s concerned gaze.

Odo was the only other person on the quarterdeck, watching the men, looking oddly peaceful. When he spoke, his voice wasn’t as gruff as it had been the day before.

“Well done, doctor,” he said, still looking down as the crew began to stir, “you saved the boy’s life.”

Julian took a deep breath. He had to admit that he was proud of himself. “It wasn’t serious, but it could’ve been fatal had the captain waited any longer.”

“Then you’ve earned his gratitude,” Odo said.

“I suppose I have,” Julian shrugged, smiling tiredly.

“Don’t take it lightly, doctor. The captain has always been grateful to those worthy of his gratitude. Once you earn his respect, try to keep it.”

The Quartermaster gave Julian an appraising look, then left.

~

“What do I get in return for all this?” Julian said one night, putting down the book he had been reading aloud and staring straight into Garak’s eyes.

“I beg your pardon?” the Cardassian feigned to be startled.

“Reading to you almost every night,” Julian explained.

Garak looked slightly hurt. “I thought you enjoyed my company.”

Julian winced. _What’s the right answer to that? Say yes, and he might get the wrong impression. Say no, and God knows what happens_ … His nocturnal visits to Garak’s cabin had become some sort of ritual they both took quite seriously; Julian would sneak out of the berth, knock on Garak’s door and they would pick a book that Julian would read aloud. They often discussed the works they read afterwards, and it gave them both an incredible insight on the other’s way of viewing the world.

For instance, Garak’s interpretations of texts from the Quran differed immensely from Julian’s. Where Julian thought that total and unwavering faith was the basis of religion, Garak believed it wasn’t faith that drove believers to serve their God, but duty. The Cardassian often spoke that word: duty. It sounded almost sacred in his mouth, and Julian tried as much as he could to understand what part that notion played in Garak’s life.

And then sometimes, after discussing literature, their conversations would turn more personal. For the first time, Julian had recounted the horror of his capture, and it had felt liberating to share the frightful memory with another person – even if the other person in question was a pirate, and part of the crew that had captured him. He had let Garak know how much he longed for home, had told him about Jadzia and her ghosts, about old Morn and his sea legends. Garak was particularly curious about those, and he found the ones concerning Cardassians highly amusing. But whenever Julian wanted to know which stories were true and which ones weren’t, Garak would smile enigmatically and reply that they were all true.

So did he enjoy Garak’s company or did he not? He wasn’t sure. He knew that he had made a new friend, although it was still difficult to call the Cardassian a ‘friend’, but he wasn’t sure he trusted him at all. He knew nothing of Garak’s past, nothing of his future plans, absolutely nothing about his personal life, except for his undying love for literature and art. He knew there was something more to this refined buccaneer, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it. And the man was so damned evasive all the time, while Julian willingly offered him everything – or almost everything – about himself. _He’s not to be trusted, that much is certain_.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy our conversations, but frankly… I don’t trust you.”

There. It was said _. Let him know that he can’t get anything else out of me until he offers me something in exchange_.

Garak seemed contemplative for a moment, but not offended. He pursed his lips and sighed. “Well, it’s fair enough that you would want something in return.”

 _Was it that easy?_ Julian tried not to look too surprised. _Here it comes then. A big confession. The reason why he became a pirate. Perhaps an honest answer to my questions about Morn’s stories._

“Tell me, doctor, could you defend yourself in battle?”

Julian’s mouth literally fell open. “I’m sorry?”

“Surely you must know that our ship is bound to encounter other ships,” Garak sat up straight on his stool, placing his elbows on the table.

“I haven’t really thought about it,” Julian frowned. _I’ve avoided thinking about it_.

“I think it’s time you did,” Garak said, and it sounded a bit like a reprimand, “do you know how to use a gun? Or a pistol? A sword, perhaps?”

Julian shook his head, irritated at the Cardassian’s patronizing tone. “I’m a doctor, not a soldier.”

A flash of white teeth, and Garak’s eyes glistened. “Oh no. You’re a pirate now.”

“I most certainly am not,” Julian clenched his jaw and fists, “and I never will be.”

Garak’s smiled faltered, but he said nothing to further provoke the younger man. “You’ll still need a few invaluable skills, if you wish to survive on these waters.”

“Are you offering to teach me how to fight?”

“Is it compensation enough?”

Julian was expecting answers, information about Garak and his past. But facing the reality of his situation made him reconsider his priorities. He had absolutely no idea how to defend himself. The Cardassian was right: he wouldn’t last a second in the middle of a battle.

He sighed heavily. “I think so.”


End file.
